Christmas Is What You Make It Dr. Preston Bradley December 10, 1972 I want to preach if I possibly can this morning a new type of Christmas sermon. It's very, very easy to follow the traditional pattern in any sermon about Christmas. I was interested last evening in reading the statements about Christmas which had been made by the great ecclesiastical prelates of our city and our community, to see how much platitudinous bromides were constantly presented as expressing the real significance of the birth of this child and the significance of Christmas. And my thoughts have been going in an entirely different direction this morning. And this may not be, in any sense of the word, traditional sermon about Christmas, and yet, I think when I have finished the most discriminating listener will come to the conclusion that it is supremely and superbly about Christmas. And I'm going a long, long way back. Hundreds and hundreds of years before the Bethlehem event around which it all centers. Hundreds of years. I'm going back to an ancient book. A book in the Old Testament, the Book of Judges. And right away, I can detect that some are already saying to themselves, "Well, what does Dr. Bradly go to the Old Testament for to say anything about Christmas?" And I think you will see why in these next few moments. For in the thirteenth chapter of the Book of Judges, in the Old Testament, you will read the story that is quite analogous to the Christmas event. The Book of Judges, in the thirteenth chapter, there you will read the story of Manoah and his wife. They were visited one day by a messenger of the Lord. And the messenger said to Manoah, and to his wife, you are going to be the parents of a son. A baby is to be born to you. They received the message, I'm sure, as all true parents do, when the beautiful miracle of birth is revealed to them. They were extremely happy with the news. Then they became concerned. And concern always follows such news. It was necessary for them to readapt much of their emphases of life. It was their firstborn. Manoah and his wife had had no children. And the visitor said to them, "A son is going to be born to you." Well, the joy of course could be explained. Perfectly human, perfectly natural. Then the concern started to grow. "We're going to be parents. We're going to have a son." And like all true parents, they became deeply and fundamentally concerned about their responsibility to this son. And that concern deepened and deepened, until they felt a certain inadequacy as parents to meet the full responsibility which was implied by the visitation of birth. So they seek out the messenger and they say to the messenger who brought the news, "Tell us, what is to be our will unto this child? What are we to do about this child? Tell us our responsibility toward this child. What are we to do unto this child?" Now, we jump the centuries. We see another visitor informing a pilgrim on the way to his native city to be taxed. With him is the companion of his heart and soul. They have been informed that they are to have a son and their concern is indicated in every movement. Every movement. A man, many years older than his wife, poverty, no social status, no position at all, no place to stay, and the hour was soon to dawn when she was to be delivered. Now, the thing that I am concerned with, as I relate these two incidences two centuries apart and both historically validated, I am concerned with the ancient question that Manoah asked. "What are we to do unto this child?" The dimensions of our effort to grasp the whole significance of this event must be widened in the light of scientific and intellectual advance, as well as the development of human history. What are we to do unto this child? A little baby is about the most impersonal thing in the world. A little baby is not born with personality. Personality is always an achievement. It is never a gift. Personality is the sum total and the external expression of all the influences of eye, or ear, or touch that has centered themselves in your inner consciousness. So that as we develop and grow, and mature with life, we develop personality. Personality is an achievement, it's not a gift. And personality is the external expression, the crystallization, the projection of all the influences that have ever touched the psychic plate of our own personalities. That is why the early influences that come into the life of a child are so important. They first ten years of a child's life are the most important ten years in all of his life. Babyhood is the most important time in the life of a person. And the influences that come through the aura of one's external being into the inner consciousness of the personality create personality. But a little baby is utterly devoid of personality. They have individuality, but not personality. And there is a vast difference between personality and individuality. But, a little baby is a universal expression of creative love. And it doesn't make any difference whether it's a Chinese baby, a Black baby, a red baby, a brown baby, or a white baby. Every little baby is a universal segment of humanity. Every baby. And when we ask ourselves the question, "What are we going to do unto this child?" The emphasis is frequently the other way. They talk about what the child can do for us. What Christ can do for us? And we put the emphasis on the other extreme. But the responsibility to humanity is "What are you going to do unto this baby?" Great churches and cathedrals will be filled, stained-glass windows will reflect the myriad beauty of infinite color, great pageantry and ceremony will be held throughout Christendom, and throughout the world the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem will experience its traditional expression. All this week we will center our interest and our love around a little baby. That's beautiful. That is unutterably beautiful. That is not the whole point. The whole point is what are we going to do with our civilization unto this baby and all the babies of the world? And there will be thousands and thousands of them born this very week. And we can cry with Manoah again, "What will we do unto this baby?" Not a racial baby, not a sectarian baby, not a Catholic baby, not a Jewish baby, but a little baby. The embodiment of the whole scope of humanity, of humanity. What shall we do unto this baby? Do you think that for two thousand years, if we had met our full responsibility to this baby, do you think this world would be in the heartache and in the agony it's in today? The baby did not fail. We failed the baby. We've been arguing theologically, we've been building creeds and churches, we've been quarrelling with great ecclesiastical institutions, we've had all this baggage of Christianity. And once a year we become eloquent, and poetical, and emotional about a little baby. And the condition that we're in today indicates beyond any equivocation that somewhere we failed this baby! Somewhere we turned our backs on him. In spite of our crosses on the top of steeples that are so high that they penetrate the infinite blue. In spite of all the stories and the sermons and the carols. In spite of it all, somewhere we turned our backs on the baby. And to me, the real spirit of Christmas is not in our conventional phraseology, not in our bromidic utterances, not in our historic ceremonies. The real heart and soul of Christmas is the birth and the awareness in the minds of humanity today when we ask ourselves, "What are we going to do unto this child?" Think of the countless thousands of babies that will be born with economic mortgages upon them that will require the test of an economic order in this colossal asininity of bankrupting the world by building missiles and bombs and all the rest of the fury of our modern age in the name of commercialism and the name of profit. So that even the business world itself doesn't want to disturb this tragic contemporary situation. They're forgetting what they owe to the baby. For these babies will grow up. They will become men and leaders. What are going to do unto this baby? Joseph considered it. Mary dreamed of it. Manoah and his wife sought the advice of angels. What are we going to do unto this baby? Not too long ago, Mrs. Bradley and I were in the ancient city of Pompeii. We walked among the streets covered with the ashes and the debris of the centuries. Seventy-nine years before the birth of the child. And as we walked among the archeological ruins, saw the results of that mighty, mighty explosion of Earth and the eruption of Vesuvius. What did we find? There, among the archives, in the archeological museum was what was virtually a statue for it had been turned to stone. And what was it? And now we leave out studios and take you to the People's Church of Chicago for the Sunday morning worship service. [music and singing] Love is our only creed to the lonely, the stranger, the homeless, and the friendless. This church opens its doors to the dismayed, the starving, and to those who have failed this church opens its heart. And without distinction of race, creed, or religious belief, it seeks to be an inspiration to all who enter its portals or listen to the services. May this spirit be in every heart as we meet here today. We believe in the beauty of tolerance, the quest of truth, the path of love, the goal of character, the life of service, and the fellowship of the church. On this wintry day, while the sun is shining, streets are very difficult, I welcome those of you who had the courage and the bravery to come out this morning and attend our service. Our radio friends are given, as always, a very hearty welcome to the broadcast of our church. The broadcast is every Sunday morning at eleven o'clock over station WAIT. There are one or two announcements that I'm going to make at this time because it's the only opportunity I will have on the air. The first is that we're planning a beautiful Christmas season in the church and I hope that you will respond heartily with your help and your attendance in all the affairs which have been planned for you. Next Sunday Dr. Donald will be back in the pulpit, and next Sunday morning at eleven o'clock I will be preaching at the First Congregational Church of Evanston and at six thirty in the evening at the Fourth Presbyterian Church here on Michigan Avenue. You're invited, our radio friends are invited to all of these services. Our church school which meets at ten o'clock every morning with classes for all ages, and Mr. Forester, the superintendent is planning a very interesting program for our children. They're going to sing at the morning service on the twenty-fourth and they will present a program later on during the Christmas period. Today, at three thirty, the Professional and Business Women's Club will present in the sanctuary a program of Christmas music by Madeline Jacobson and a dramatic reading of "The Tale of a Pig" by Miss Jean Chandler. Now this is a real Christmas story about a real pig by Mr. James Delay Freeman. Following the program there will be a social hour with refreshments in Anderson Hall and you are all most courteously invited. That's this afternoon at three thirty under the auspices of the Professional and Business Women's Club of the church. The sermon of the morning, over at WAIT will follow immediately the singing of the anthem by our People's Church quartet. The anthem is entitled "Sleepers Wake" by Bach. [music and singing] I wish each of you could have been in this church on Friday evening. It was one of the greatest experiences I have ever had in the nearly sixty-one years which I have stood in this pulpit. This church was packed to overflowing. Every seat in this sanctuary was occupied. I have never faced an audience quite like it in all of these years. These people had gathered from eight states and were attending the Ecumenical Conference which was being held in Chicago and its sessions were being held in this church. As I rose to preach that evening, Friday evening, and looked out into this great company of expectant people, I seem to have been inspired or directed in a certain attitude that I would like to carry on this morning in the opportunity which is mine today, in having some deeper thoughts in regard to this experience which we are all passing through now of the Christmas season. To me, there is a certain identity about the Christmas season that doesn't exist in any other time of the entire year. And I think that is shared by all of us, whether we're Catholic, or Jewish, or Protestant, or whatever we might happen to be, there is something in the air. There is an almost indescribable and indefinable spirit that seems to operate in our own hearts and with those people with whom we are associated. There are a few days in this season of the year that while they are traditional, and yet to each one who has a deep feeling, they are distinct and unusual. And although the experience is quite common and because of repetition we have all passed through it, there is a uniqueness about it this year that I have never felt before. Christmas this year, more than any other year which I have ever known - and I've known many Christmases - has a distinct personality that I have never experienced before. Now, this is probably and largely due to the fact that we are in this strange, tortured, upside-down, twisted world as we have never experienced the world before. The contrasts of every feeling of the human heart are evidenced everywhere. And if we are able to take the real depths and the quality of the true spirit of this season of the year, it's going to require some effort on our parts. It can't be accepted merely as a great tradition. We are not merely following a tradition. We are on the threshold of something brand new in the whole history of civilization. I feel it in the atmosphere. I think that in the very next few months there will be evidences of such complete reemphasis on many of the things that we have held imperishable that we've never experienced before. I think this is the greatest hour of test that civilization has ever known. Everything is on trial. You're on trial, I'm on trial, civilization is on trial as it has never been in the whole history of mankind. We are all in the courtroom. We are all on trial. The fundamental realities of what constitutes human progress have never been assailed as they are today. And that reminds me of a phrase that's identified I think with this hour more than any other in human history. A phrase: "Beautiful ideals, tragic hopes." Beautiful ideals and tragic hopes are in affinity today as I have never known them to be. Beautiful ideals and tragic hopes. The universal hope of the heart of man for peace. Everybody is for the beautiful ideal. Everybody is for the beautiful ideal of peace. You will hear "Peace on Earth, to men of goodwill" which is the proper interpretation of the phrase. You will hear that myriads of times in the next few days. Peace on Earth to men of goodwill. And that brutal fact stares us in the face, that we are nearer, perhaps, to world catastrophe than we have ever been in the history of man. In spite of all the superficial aspects, and the artificial emotionalisms of the hour, in spite of all the songs of angels, in spite of clustering at the cradle of a little child. In spite of all this, beautiful ideals but fundamental facts. And if we are able to take and translate these facts in terms of our idealism we can make progress. But if our idealism is merely the repetition of beautiful songs about angels and babies and all that's associated with the superficialities of the spirit of Christmas, then of course there is nothing that approximates a solution on the horizon. Beautiful ideals. Peace is one of them. You ask anybody about peace and they're all for peace. I don't know anyone who isn't. We're all for peace. Whatever our identification is in society, religiously or politically, or racially - peace! Everybody is for peace. How does it happen that we seem to be unable to translate this beautiful experience into reality? That is the real test of Christmas. If it's merely the superficial aspect of angels, songs, and all that's identified with the emotional quality of Christmas, or whether we're able to translate it into human action. For the time has passed now when mere sentimentality and superficial emotionalism is going to solve our problems. We are now being forced to the bedrock of human reason. In the midst of the greatest tragedy of our own country, in our war between the states, in an agonizing moment when it seemed defeat was possible for the North, Abraham Lincoln said, "Passion has helped us in the past. It can help us no longer. We must now appeal to the bedrock of human reason." Those were the words of Abraham Lincoln in another great crisis. Such a crisis is now upon us. We see it everywhere about us. It's been a tragic week of crisis. One of the greatest disasters and alienations happened to our city. There are myriads and myriads of homes, while I'm speaking these words that are suffering the depths of life's greatest agony: the loss of a loved one. And particularly under tragic or dramatic circumstances. I have never known an hour when I pick up a newspaper and glance at a headline when I don't feel, "Here's another affirmation of this fundamental truth - beautiful ideals, beautiful hopes everywhere." But the reality, and how to treat the reality - with judgment and with courage is a far different matter. Now it's possible for us, in this Christmas season to transfer this emotionalism about it, of being beautiful, beautiful fact of Christmas. Of course it's beautiful. The most beautiful emotion that ever took place in the human spirit is solidified in the practice of the Christmas season. It isn't enough. Merchandizing is in the forefront, advertising so that it's almost difficult to find a news item in the daily newspaper. All kinds of artificial displays on a social plane. Everything that has to do with the superficial aspect of this season of the year, and nothing to do with the deeper reality, was it? There are those who are always confused between an ideal and a fact. And they seem to continue in their false logic of trying to justify idealism against the reality of factuality. Christmas is the time that gives us the opportunity. Beautiful is the exchanging of gifts. Beautiful is the memory that is revived in a Christmas card that we open from someone that we didn't expect to hear from or someone we hadn't heard from in a long, long time. And all at once, old memories are revived. Old relationships are reborn and we call it Christmas. That is good, and that is true, but it isn't all the truth. Unless we can motivate our sentiments of goodwill and peace in a practical expression of daily experience, it's all sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. To pass out with the death of a season that when the lights are extinguished and the candles are out, and we're back to the basic reality of living life on a Monday, on a Tuesday, on a Wednesday, on a week when it is not identified by the Christmas season at all! When the inspiration of it has been completely removed from our consciousness how can we make Christmas last then? How can we project this spirit of reality? The need for friendship, the undying quest of understanding love, the tragedies in our domestic world, the tragedies in our scientific world? One split second of error on the part of a navigator and forty-five people in the twinkling of an eye have met the last of the greatest adventure. The beautiful ideals of Christmas, yes. But there are some brutal facts about Christmas too. And if we do not understand the relationship of those facts to the ideals Christmas is but a transitory thing of tinkling cymbals and musical bells. It must be deeper than that now, the crisis is too impending. International relations are too sensitive. Political chicanery too abundant. The surface element of life is now being displaced by the deeper reality of life and we can find the fundamentals truths of that reality in the real truth of Christmas. That baby was a fact. He wasn't as ideal. And he wasn't a dream. He was a fact. That baby, grown into manhood has become the center of inspiration for all the beauty of human relationships. That's the real spirit of Christ. That's what Christmas means. If it doesn't mean that, it again is just sounding brass and tinkling cymbals. And when the twenty-sixth of December comes, we fall back into the old patterns to revive and project and retain and nourish the old prejudices, the old attitudes, and then the personal disaster. Christmas means the triumph of the highest hopes and dreams of man. And this little baby in danger of a brutal fact of his age, for do not forget - no Christmas story is complete without Herod. Herod, let's kill every little baby in the realm under two years of age. And he sought out to do it. And he did it. And history will never know how close this baby was to being brutally murdered by a Roman emperor. That's always a part of Christmas. There are those about us who are ready to kill Christmas. There are those of us who haven't learned the quality implied by the fundamental truth of the Christmas season. They're all about us everywhere. Yes, the presents, the toys, the laughter, the love. All this is beautiful. A beautiful, beautiful ideal. But underneath that ideal, like all great ideals, is a brutal fact. That fact is that we are in a dual world where goodness, truth, and beauty are always being assailed and are always on trial. And if we can go through that experience and retain the sobriety of our thinking, and the nobility and courage of our living, and say to this little baby, "Herod didn't get you." And the centuries haven't been able to kill you. It's Christmas again. Then the perpetuity of the good, the true, and the beautiful, the indestructible trinity will still be the vitalizing force that will inspire this whole world on its way until the dawn breaks of that Christmas day when peace will not be only a word, but a reality. For that we hope. [music] You've been listening to the Sunday morning worship service from the People's Church of Chicago. Today's sermon was presented by Dr. Preston Bradley, the senior pastor. You're invited to hear the service from the People's Church every Sunday morning on WAIT beginning at eleven o'clock.